


Idol

by womanfromblackwater



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, adorable child john, badass adult john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25518175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/womanfromblackwater/pseuds/womanfromblackwater
Summary: At six and thirty-six, John thinks about his idol, Landon Ricketts
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Idol

Chicago, 1880

Happily taking his lemonade from the barkeep, John Marston scanned the room, looking for the right group. It was boring to sit and wait for his father to finish drinking, so he’d entertain himself by finding the men with the dustiest coats and oldest hats, then sitting as close as he could to listen to their stories. 

One table had looked promising, but they were talking about something called a labor union and John didn’t know what that was, so he continued his search. He was about to give up when he heard a deep voice, one with the accent the men from out west had, talking in the low tones reserved for a really good story.

“Thought I was a goner, I did. But that’s when Landon Ricketts steps out of the saloon, pistols in hand. Nobody blinks an eye before he drops them right where they stand.”

“Who is Landon Ricketts?” One of his companions asked.

“Who is Landon Ricketts? Only the fastest draw in the west! Tall, he is. Dresses fancy, too, but that man can shoot, I’ll tell you that. He-”

The man stopped, noticing his young listener.

“Ain’t polite to eavesdrop, boy.”  
“But… I wanna hear about Landon Ricketts. I’m gonna go west too, when I get big. Please?”

John tried to make his eyes as wide as possible. It worked to get waitresses to give him extra food or convince a shopkeeper that he hadn’t put anything in his pocket, honest. He hoped it would convince this man, too. They sized each other up for a moment before the man let out a hearty laugh and pulled a chair over. John eagerly climbed into his new seat, setting his lemonade on the table to claim his spot. 

“Hear that, boys? Kid’s gonna be the next Landon Ricketts!” 

He laughed again, and John didn’t care if the man laughed at him all night, as long as he could hear about the famous gunslinger. He listened to stories of bank and train robberies, duels at high noon, and how Landon Ricketts would never leave a lady in distress. He could almost see the man riding across the desert- the way it looked in pictures, at least- his long hair blowing behind him as he galloped off to his next adventure. 

It was nearly midnight when the bartender laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“Sorry to interrupt, but this boy’s pa is asking for him. Johnny, come on. You know better than to go hiding on a blind man.”

Rolling his eyes, John got up and followed the barkeep back towards the door. He figured it was no use saying that he wasn’t hiding, just trying not to die of boredom. He’d get a nasty look and then a smack from his father. The man may have lost his sight, but he always seemed to know where his son’s cheek happened to be. John followed his father home, slowing himself down to keep with his staggering pace. 

“Johnny, I ever tell you about… about…” he paused, searching his memory. “About the English!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Wanted my father’s farm all to themselves, they did.”

“I know.”

John sighed. It wasn’t even a story, but he knew what his father would say by heart. He let his thoughts drift off as they got home and went up to their apartment, his father babbling the whole way. John got himself ready for bed. Once he could hear the old man snoring across the room, he whispered to the ceiling.

“When I grow up, I’m gonna be a gunslinger.”

———————————————————————————————

Chuparosa, Mexico 1911

For weeks now, John had been worried. About his family, about the ranch, about Bill and Javier and Dutch. Even now he was hoping they could get the girl back to her brother without getting her or themselves killed, but not sure they could.

But all of those thoughts were pushed to the back of his mind by an excitement he hadn’t felt in years. He was riding with Landon Ricketts. The man whose picture he had pulled out of the paper to stick on his wall in the orphanage. The man whose cigarette card he’d kept and treasured. The man who, if he was honest with himself, he’d tried to dress like in the early days of his outlaw career. That man was here, riding in front of him.

Ricketts was as sharp as ever. Older, definitely, but with the keen eye and fast draw that had made him a legend. The pair of them were holding off the troops chasing them just as well as any man John had ridden with before, and being in his idol’s presence seemed to have brought back some of the talent with a gun that John had been fighting to suppress for all those years. 

It felt right. Riding with his hero, rescuing a damsel in distress, fighting for the peasants of the town. This was what life was supposed to be about. The moments that made it count, made him miss the good old days. 

“Nice shootin’, Mr. Marston”

He hoped Ricketts couldn’t see him blush as he beamed with pride.


End file.
